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by Catrin Walker

It's a dog's life for the King of Hamburg. Some days you fight hard to stay alive. Some days for your next meal. Training days aren't so bad. It's those days leading up to a fight, they're the worse.

My Dad was a fighter too, until they put an end to him. Then it was my turn to prove I had what it takes to be his heir. I'd done alright up to then, but suddenly it was all down to me. We used to train, me and my mates, on the flat first, carrying a car tyre round our necks and dragging a long heavy chain. Then someone'd pull the chain and I'd follow as they drove round and round on a scooter, me keeping up as best I could. I always kept going when the others stopped. In the end it was me running ahead, pulling the chain, as they sat on the bike and tried to slow me down. I never let them, I kept pulling until they got tired not me. The others couldn't do that, but I could, that's when I heard them say I was going to be king.

After work on the flat, it was obstacles, climbing up trees with no branches for grip. Jumping up and holding on, not letting go until the time was up. I could outlast any of the others, I'd got stamina. I'd run round and round tied to one of those playground roundabouts, keeping up with it, never slowing down - you had to keep up or it'd drag you over. It built up my muscles so I could fight, that and the anabolic steroids of course. I'd doubled my weight to what you'd expect someone my size to be.

After my first fight, they called my the killer. They'd bet 300 DM a time on me and they'd know I'd win. Ibrahim arranged the fights and it made Ibrahim a rich man. 6000 DM a fight he'd make no sweat. I was valuable property and I was the King. Ibrahim wasn't a nice guy, but I learned to please him. At least I learned to ignore the blows, the drugs helped that, but they didn't help my temper. Oh No! They made me a better killer though.

If I had a match coming up, I got locked in the cellar, no light, no food, just the drugs, for days. I certainly came out fighting. I was due to fight last June. Then just before lunch time I went out training. I ran on with my mate Gypsy. It looked like a dog, on the floor, after a ball. Well, I thought it was a dog, on the floor, after a ball. I heard some kids run off screaming, they did that kids, when I was near. They all feared Zeus, the King of Hamburg.

They shot me and Gypsy; ten times they say. Ibrahim made me the King of Hamburg. A killer, I wasn't born that way.